


One Single Second

by Akatsuki_Celeste



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Newt Lives (Maze Runner), Polyamory, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akatsuki_Celeste/pseuds/Akatsuki_Celeste
Summary: Sometimes a single second is all that it can take to save a life - and sometimes saving that one life can change someone's world.
Relationships: Aris/Sonya/Harriet (Maze Runner), Brenda/Frypan (Maze Runner), Gally/Thomas (Maze Runner), Minho/Newt (Maze Runner), Minho/Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner), Minho/Newt/Thomas/Gally (Maze Runner), Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	One Single Second

**Author's Note:**

> So here I am, posting my first Maze Runner fanfic. I know I'm a bit late to the party, all things considered, but I discovered the series late last year and I've been unable to get it out of my head ever since. This is an evolving story; I don't know how long it'll be and I don't know precisely where it's going to go after I cover certain plot points, but given how everyone lives rent-free in my mind I expect it's going to be awhile. This story also follows Movieverse compliant - sad to admit but I haven't read the books yet, despite them staring at me from my table and making me feel guilty, and everything I know about them comes from secondhand sources so I'll probably only adapt bits of them into the plot if I'm absolutely certain of their accuracy. I'll also be updating Ratings, Tags, Warnings, etc as the story progresses - what exists now is what I know now. 
> 
> I think that's everything, so now I'll just go quiet and step into my corner. Please enjoy!
> 
> *Note: realized after the fact that this wasn't set for multiple chapters. Whoops. Fixed now. I am definitely not leaving them hanging like this! *Note #2: Ahem. Also fixed the chapter title. Because I shouldn't be allowed to upload fanfiction on my phone after I go to bed.

It didn’t matter how fast Minho ran; as he drew closer to the place where he had left Thomas and Newt, where Newt had grabbed his arm and thanked him in choked, nearly indecipherable words as he struggled with the virus consuming his body – _his mind_ – time seemed to slow to a halt. Every step took longer than the last; every inch became a foot, a foot a yard. He could hear Gally and Frypan running behind him, but their footsteps were dull and distant, drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat. All he could do was keep his gaze fixed on the still form lying on the ground in front of him.

Brenda had gotten there first and stopped, but Minho didn’t – he rushed past her, Fry right with him now, and then dropped to his knees. His body ached from the beating and bruising it had taken in the last – hour, had it been an hour, less than that – and he didn’t give a klunk. He stared first at the knife, sticking oh-so-innocently up into the air – _there wasn’t even any blood_ – and then he forced his eyes to look the face. His face.

Newt’s face.

Rain streamed down Minho’s cheeks, his throat so tight he thought that if he tried to speak or swallow he might choke himself instead. The rain had washed most of the blood and bile from his skin and hair, and with his eyes closed the blond could easily be mistaken for being asleep. If it wasn’t for that _shucking_ knife embedded into his torso. But what really drew Minho’s attention was Newt’s mouth and the way that his lips seemed to be curled into a smile. The barest hints of one, but Newt’s smiles had become so few and fleeting in the past months that even _that_ was enough to put another crack into Minho’s heart. That smile, combined with teasing blue eyes and the haphazard way his bangs would fall across his forehead, had been Minho’s motivation for just that extra bit of speed he’d needed to get to the Maze exit for so damn long. It was what had pushed him _now_. Never had a Run been more important than the one he had just completed.

The one he had just _failed._

Minho reached out with one trembling hand, pressing the back of his against Newt’s cheek. There was still some lingering warmth, and the crack widened. A dozen scenarios of what had happened flashed through his mind, each one just as likely as the next, and each of them ended with the knowledge that if he had just been a _little bit faster_ , he could have made it in time. He could have saved Newt and Thomas both. And although it wasn’t likely the latter was dead yet, after hearing Teresa’s announcement Minho knew _exactly_ what the idiot shank was intending to do. Where he would have gone. Why he would have just…left Newt.

He drew his hand back from Newt slowly, dimly registering that Fry had knelt on the other side of his… of Newt and had taken his hand. He could hear Fry speaking, but it sounded like he was trying to talk underwater, and Minho just didn’t have any more strength left in him to figure out what he was saying besides the few syllables that penetrated through his grief.

_“-ulse! Brenda, Gally, get over here!”_

It felt like Minho had no chance to blink before he was being shoved to the side, body-checked by Brenda as efficiently as any Glader might have done in a Fight Circle. He hit the soaked ground on his side, wincing as his already bruised body gained another one to its collection for the night. He lay there, stunned and staring, as Brenda took his place at Newt’s side while Gally leaned over him from next to Fry, shouting the d-other boy’s name. Minho opened his mouth to speak, to tell Gally it was useless, but the words stuck in his throat as he watched Brenda pull the serum out of her bag and prep a syringe, then plunge the needle into Newt’s unmoving arm.

“Wha-“ Minho swallowed, his throat and mouth as dry as sandpaper. He tried again. "What are you doing? It's too – we're too –"

“Didn’t you shucking hear what Fry said?” Gally snapped, looking up from Newt to meet Minho's gaze; his own were wild, pupils blown with adrenaline and a panicked tension around him that screamed _move, go_ even as he forced himself to do neither. “ _He still has a pulse!_ ”

The words clicked together in Minho's brain, and he gasped as if the wind had just been knocked out of him. He pushed himself upright and immediately moved closer, though Brenda still occupied his previous spot. And the instant he did he saw what Frypan must have noticed by not being quite as consumed by grief at Minho had – the slight, almost imperceptive rise and fall of Newt’s chest. “But the knife – _how?_ ”

“What do I look like, a shanking Med-Jack?” Gally snapped. “How did I survive you putting a spear through my lung? It _doesn’t matter_.”

And Gally was, remarkably, right. It didn’t matter how the knife hadn’t killed Newt. It mattered that it _hadn’t._ Minho looked over at Brenda sharply; she had finished giving Newt the serum and was capping the vial and putting it all back into her bag. "We need to get him out of here." Part of his mind was shouting about Thomas being missing, but Minho had to force himself to shove that thought back. Thomas could be anywhere at this point, and with the city literally collapsing around them, trying to find him at this point would be suicide. Besides which, when it came down to choosing between looking for Thomas and helping Newt, Minho knew exactly what the other Runner would have to say about that.

“We can’t risk taking that knife out of his chest yet, though,” Frypan said anxiously. “I know that much from watching the Slicers. He could start bleeding out, or removing the knife might damage something else that we can’t fix.” He looked at the larger teen beside him. “Gally, you should carry him.”

Even as Gally was already reaching to do just that Minho opened his mouth to protest – and then snapped it shut. Fry’s suggestion made sense. Minho was strong, but he and Newt were basically the same height. Gally, on the other hand, was both a wall and a giant, and he’d be able to carry Newt without jostling the knife. _Newt’s knife_ , Minho dimly noted. Newt had been stabbed by the knife that he always carried in his boot. Thomas must have been frantic trying to stop him from using it, but Minho was absolutely certain on one point – it hadn’t been deliberate. If either Newt or Thomas has struck the actual blow on purpose, they wouldn’t have missed.

“Come on, let’s go,” Minho said, unable to hide his anxiety or how desperate his body was to just _move._ Move, get out of danger and get back to where it was safer. Not safe. Not yet. And maybe not all of them.

As Brenda got back to her feet and turned to lead the way back through the streets, and Gally tucked Newt against his chest as best as he could to shield the leaner youth, Minho caught Frypan’s eye. The other Glader clenched his jaw and then gave a slight nod of understanding before the two of them broke contact and hurried after Brenda.

They were going to save Newt. And they were not going to give up on Thomas.

They were _done_ with losing their family to WCKD.

* * *

Thomas was in the Glade.

Thomas was in the Glade, and it was the day he arrived, the box opening as several unfamiliar faces, faces that he still _knew_ , stared down at him. The box opened and Gally was jumping down to help him out, his usual brusque self. Alby, friendly, smiling. Newt, quick-witted and smirking. Minho, quick to see potential.

The first Griever.

There were more faces. Dead faces. Alby. Ben. Jeff, Clint, so many others he’d never had a chance to learn. Killed by Grievers. Killed by WCKD.

Chuck, killed by Gally.

There were living faces, the ones who had made it out of the Maze. Minho, Newt, Winston, Frypan, Teresa. Winston, who they had lost to the Cranks before they had known anything. When they thought they’d known everything. Aris, who was the reason they’d escaped WCKD. The Scorch.

Lightning. Minho. Minho should have died, but he hadn’t. His panic before they’d been able to get Minho breathing again, before he'd open his eyes. His panic, because he needed Minho. Because after coming so far it was _stupid_ to lose Minho to a bolt of lightning.

Then Brenda, Jorge. Sonya, Harriet, Vince, Mary. Mary, who had saved so many with his help. Mary, who he didn’t remember. Mary, dead. Harriet, screaming for Aris and Sonya. Newt, screaming for Minho. His own screams echoing, for who he didn’t remember. For Minho? For… 

Teresa. 

Minho. Couldn’t lose Minho. Too much loss already. Failure. Too much failure. Paige, Janson, Teresa. And then Gally, alive. Gally, who could get them through the walls. Gally, who gave them hope. A chance. An exit to the last, greatest maze of all.

The city. Explosions. Everything going wrong. Newt, eyes jet black, black as his blood. Teresa, falling, out of his reach forever. Newt. Teresa.

_Newt. Teresa. Newt, Teresa. NewtTeresaNewtTeresaNewtTeresaNewt-_

With a choking gasp, Thomas' eyes snapped open, his back arching as he struggled to draw breath into his lungs. Pain lanced through his body in the same instant, originating from his lower abdomen and then encompassing all of him. Two very different sets of hands seized one shoulder each and pushed him firmly back down onto the bed, automatically triggering his flight or fight response even though he couldn't actually _move._

“Shucking hell, where’s he getting this strength from after being unconscious for over a week?”

“Thomas, calm down, you damn shank! Brenda’s going to have our heads if you rip open those stitches!”

The voices just barely penetrated Thomas’ panic, but barely was enough. He recognized them, knew them, and the sound of them made his throat immediately tighten. He stared upward blankly, willing his vision to come into focus and breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of the two worried – well, one worried and one exasperated – faces looming over him. “Minho?” he managed, his voice horse from disuse. “Gally?”

"Well, that rules out head injuries," Minho said with a crooked smile, although it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. “ _I’m_ unforgettable, of course, but if he can recognize your shuck-face, Gally, I’d say we’re on the right track.”

Gally scowled. “I thought we were worried about the gunshot in his stomach, not his head,” he shot back.

“Hey, you heard what Brenda said, just like I did. With as many bruises as he’s got there’s no telling what else he’s dealing with aside from the obvious.” When Gally’s scowl only deepened, Minho shook his head and looked back down at Thomas. His hand was still on the other’s shoulder; Gally had pulled his back when Thomas had stopped trying to struggle his way out of the bed. “You okay? That was a pretty rough-looking wake-up.”

A few of the images flickered back through Thomas’ mind and he swallowed hard, shoving the nightmare – _reality_ – back into the recesses of his mind. Maybe if he pushed them back far enough, they’d join the memories he _couldn’t_ remember. “I’m…I’m okay,” Thomas managed after a moment. Then he winced; just shifting slightly caused another surge of pain. “Relatively.” Gingerly he brought his hand up and touched his side; he was shirtless, with several bandages wrapped around his abdomen and over his shoulder for security. He knew exactly where the bullet had entered, though. He could _feel_ it.

Thomas’ mind was racing with a thousand questions – some of them possibly the same questions just worded differently but he really didn’t have the patience to parse it out. “Where are we?” he asked. It was a good starter question. Start there, branch out, and maybe eventually the non-sensical jumble that was currently his brain would sort itself out. A head injury probably wasn’t out of the realm of possibility given the way his throbbed, but he'd woken up. He’d…figure out later if that was good or bad.

“We’re in the Safe Haven,” Minho replied, and his words jolted Thomas out of his thoughts. “In the clinic. Or what we’ve got that’s passing as a clinic right now.”

“We’re going to build a bigger one,” Gally said with not a small touch of defensiveness. “Not my fault half these kids barely know what they’re doing. Vince Is having us work on the huts first, anyway.”

“The Safe Haven?” Thomas repeated, ignoring Gally because really, sometimes that was all you could do with Gally once he got defensive. And Minho’s comment hadn’t really warranted it, even _with_ how easy it could be to set Gally off. Which told Thomas that there was another source of tension underneath the words. “How long have I been out?”

“It took us about half a week to get here,” Gally replied, crossing his arms over his chest in that way that indicated he didn’t know what else to do with his hands now that he wasn’t holding Thomas in place. “And it’s been a week after that. You’ve woken up a few times in between, but you weren’t really… you were pretty out of it.”

“What’s the last thing that you remember?” Minho asked, dark eyes gazing intently into Thomas’.

“I…” Thomas hesitated. He couldn’t differentiate his nightmares from his memories that well. Not when his nightmares _were_ his memories.

"The Berg," he said finally. "In the Last City. I remember being pulled onto the Berg, and then…Teresa…" His voice cracked on her name, "and after that, it's all black and muddled."

“Sounds about right,” Minho quietly confirmed. “You passed out. We had to do emergency surgery on you right there because of that shucking bullet, which was an experience considering none of us had a damn clue what we were doing. It turns out Brenda was the closest we had to a Medjack, so we were able to at least get you bandaged up and stop the bleeding. But we couldn’t do anything about the bullet until we got here. Then one of the Right Arm’s actual medics took over.”

Thomas absorbed this information silently, his expression unreadable to both Minho and Gally – something neither boy was accustomed to because really, no one wore their heart on their sleeve more so than Thomas did. The brunette didn’t even seem to know the _concept_ of being guarded.

Then again, after everything they’d gone through, could they really blame him for becoming more withdrawn?

“Help me sit up,” Thomas said abruptly. “I’m sick and tired of being horizontal.”

Gally opened his mouth to protest, but Minho was already moving to help, one hand on Thomas’ arm and the other on his back as he eased him into a sitting position, Gally assisting from the other side after deciding that it wasn’t worth the argument. Thomas did what Thomas wanted – Gally just didn’t want to be the one to have to explain why Thomas had ripped open his stitches on _his_ watch.

Thomas winced in pain but made no complaint otherwise, taking a deep breath once he was upright and then nodding to the other two that they could let go of him. He wasn’t going to fault them for reluctance; it wasn’t like he was made of glass, but after everything they’d gone through he’d probably do the same thing for either of them. And that thought made his chest hurt in ways that he couldn’t describe because he _knew_ that part of that reaction was a need to cling to what was still left. What hadn’t been lost or broken.

He wanted to ask who else had made it – they’d mentioned Brenda and Vince, and he hazily remembered Frypan and Jorge being in the Berg, but his mind was still jumbled and his memory was shit at the moment, and he really couldn’t bring himself to ask. He couldn’t handle _more_ loss at the moment.

So instead he tried to distract his mind by taking in his surroundings. The room he was in was a far cry from the sterile top-of-the-line-tech environment of WCKD, but whoever was in charge of it kept it clean and sterile as best as they could. There were two other beds aside from the one he was in, various pieces of equipment that looked like they’d been gathered from any source possible and absolutely didn’t go together, but if nothing else it was proof of what Vince and Mary had told them when they’d first met up with the Right Arm – that they’d been preparing this place for them for a while. He’d probably known that _before_ , being Mary’s contact, but those memories seemed to be as stubbornly lost to him as the rest of his childhood. Which was sad in a way, because his brief re-introduction to the woman that had been Ava Paige’s counter-conscience made him wish that he’d remembered her better. Although he supposed he could say the same for a lot of other things.

The last thing that he noticed in the room seized his full attention as soon as he noticed it – there, in one corner opposite the row of beds, was an area that was curtained off in a way that was clearly meant for concealment. Except, of course, for the fact that the curtains were white, and he could make out the shadow of another bed within the area, and the still form of a person lying on that bed. “What’s that over there?” he asked abruptly. “Or _who?_ ”

Neither Minho nor Gally had been talking, but damn if his question didn’t make the silence in the room deafening.

Thomas also didn’t fail to notice that the chairs that must have previously been occupied by his friends were positioned closer to the curtained area rather than his bed. As if they’d been standing guard instead of keeping a vigil.

“It’s a quarantine area,” Gally finally said, his voice low. “Only a few people are allowed – _hey!_ ”

Thoughts of taking it easy and sitting still so that he didn’t wreck the medical care he’d been given completely flew out of Thomas’ mind as he surged forward, pushing himself off and out of the bed and avoiding both Minho and Gally’s attempts to grab him. His mind was moving faster than his body. They were in the Safe Haven, there shouldn’t be a _reason_ for there to be any kind of quarantine area, let alone one that Gally and Minho would be able to guard. There was only one disease, one virus, that any one of them could stand guard around without protective equipment or something more than _curtains_ around a bed because there was only one virus that they were _immune_ to. That was the entire point of Safe Haven, that the Flare and the Scorch and the Cranks couldn’t reach it.

Thomas grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it to the side, stepping into the makeshift room, and froze.

The body on the bed was deathly pale as if all of his blood had been drained out of him. It made the black, twisting veins that snaked up his arms and neck stand out even more. But the black blood that had stained his chin was gone, his blond hair was clean and combed, and his closed eyes gave him a look of peace that was completely at odds with the sightless stare that Thomas could clearly remember last seeing on his face.

And when Thomas noticed that the soft, rhythmic beeping coming from one of the machines was a heartbeat and that Newt's chest was slowly rising and falling with each unconscious breath that he took, Thomas' knees instantly went weak.

Minho caught him around the waist with one arm, the shoulders with the other, and leaned the still-injured teen’s weight against him. Thomas reached up, scrabbling at Minho’s arm with one hand and then gripping it tightly, nearly gouging Minho’s skin. “How?” he asked hoarsely. “How did… what…”

“The stab wasn’t fatal,” Minho quietly replied. “When we found him, he still had a pulse… the doctor said that the blade just barely managed to miss his heart. Nicked one of his lungs, but because we didn’t try to remove the knife first and something about Cranks being harder to kill, they were able to remove the knife and do surgery.”

“Practically had to hold a gun to their heads, though,” Gally muttered with not a small touch of bitterness. “That shank Vince had to put his foot down and order them to do it.”

Thomas swallowed. Newt, alive. Not dead. Somehow. After everything they’d been through, after everything he’d lost, it seemed impossible that he’d gotten one of the lost ones _back._ "But what about…" He drifted off as his stellar observational skills answered his question for him. Two IV bags were hanging next to Newt's bed – oh, _that_ was what had stung when Thomas had jumped up from his bed – and while one was the usual clear saline solution for dehydration, the other was filled with a familiar-looking teal liquid. “The serum?”

“Well, Lawrence didn’t need it anymore,” Gally dryly remarked. “They hooked him up once he was stable. Figured they’d take him off it once he woke up, once they could figure out how much he needed and when, but…”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Minho finished, voice cracking on the words. “None of the Right Arm’s people here can explain why. They’re just assuming it’s got something to do with the Flare, but it’s pretty clear that’s _all_ they’re doing. No one’s actually trying to figure it out except us.”

“Why?” Thomas demanded.

Gally scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because as far as those shanks are concerned, he shouldn’t even _be_ here. The Safe Haven was just supposed to be a place for Immunes like us, or members of the Right Arm that weren’t sick. You should have seen the reactions when we showed up with him. Like I said, if it wasn’t for Vince they probably would have tried to finish him off. And it wasn’t just Newt – they didn’t want to let Brenda stay, either, no matter how many times we tried to explain she wasn’t sick. They finally did a blood test on her, but they don’t believe us when we told them _why_ she wasn’t sick anymore. They just assume we’re wrong and she never had the Flare in the first place.”

Gally’s words made Thomas’s jaw clench and his stomach twist. He had absolute respect for Vince and the members of the Right Arm that they’d worked closely with during the six months that they’d been planning Minho’s rescue, but he really considered that there’d be people who would have gone ahead to prepare their Safe Haven. Logically it made sense that there’d be _someone_ doing that, someone had to have identified the area in the first place and taken precautions for WCKD to not find it, but he'd had other things to focus on. And it’d definitely never occurred to him that he’d have to be _worried_ about these people.

He moved his hand to his pocket and then stiffened; it wasn’t until that moment that he realized he wasn’t wearing the pants he’d had on when he’d been shot, but instead a pair of sweatpants that were just a little too baggy on him. “My clothes,” Thomas said suddenly, looking at Minho with a touch of panic. “What happened to them?”

“Trashed,” Minho replied. “There was no saving them, not with how much you bled.” Thomas’ growing distress must have shown on his face, because Minho quickly added, “but I pulled out what you had in your pockets and put them in that bag over there.” He gestured back to Thomas’ bed, and now Thomas saw the small cloth bag that was tied shut and sitting on a table beside the bed.

Thomas ignored the pain in his side as he rushed over to pick up the bag, tugging on the string that was holding it shut and reaching inside. The first thing his fingers touched was the rough surface of leather and he hesitated briefly, then pulled out the necklace that Newt had given to him. He held it in his hand, the cool metal of the cylinder against his skin as he lightly stroked the leather strap with his thumb. After a moment he took the necklace and looped it over his neck; he didn’t know why Newt had been so insistent that he take it, but it had been one of the last coherent things his friend had said to him and that was good enough for him. He’d give it back once Newt woke up – until then, he’d keep it safe.

Next, he pulled out Chuck's carving, and he couldn't help swallowing hard at the sight of it. He set it on the nightstand; there was no reason to keep it in the bag, after all, and for the first time since their escape from the Maze he felt like he didn’t have to keep it on his person at all times or risk losing it forever. He didn’t notice Gally shifting his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at anything _but_ that small, recognizable figurine.

Thomas’ attention was zeroed in on the third item in the bag, the one that he’d never have forgiven himself if it'd been lost in what must have been pure chaos after he had passed out from his physical injuries and mental devastation. He held up the small vial, relieved to find it fully intact – clearly, WCKD had invested more in the materials for their vials than they had in any of their glass walls. The blue liquid, nearly transparent in its lightness. Even now, looking at it and knowing what it was felt surreal to him. Knowing that _he_ was the reason it existed in the first place made it even more so.

"What is that?" Gally asked as Minho stiffened next to him, palpable tension radiating off of him. He’d been in WCKD’s hands long enough to recognize what kind of vial was in Thomas’ hand.

“Teresa’s last act of restitution,” Thomas said, his eyes locked onto the small vial as he slowly turned it in his fingers. “I need to see this doctor. Can you take me?”

* * *

“Thomas?!”

The sound of his name in stereo was all the warning Thomas got before he found himself abruptly tackled by not one, not two, but _three_ people who by all rights should not have been able to hug him at the same time. Thomas’ eyes widened, taken aback by the reception from Brenda, Frypan and Aris – although he supposed if he saw one of his friends that had been unconscious for the entire voyage to the Safe Haven suddenly walking around without any forewarning, he might have the same reaction.

He remembered the way he and Newt had practically collided with Minho in relief at a time when they really hadn’t had time. Not might. Probably. Almost definitely. 

Still. _Ow._

“Hey guys,” he said with a weak yet sincere laugh of relief. “It’s good to see you, too. But you think you could ease up just a little?”

Fry’s eyes widened, and he immediately released Thomas and jolted back; Brenda and Aris were only a brief moment behind him. “Sorry!” he exclaimed. “Just – we didn’t know you were awake.”

“Yeah – _someone_ didn’t let us know like he was specifically told to,” Brenda said, shooting Gally a look from where the larger teen was standing behind Thomas.

“Slim it,” Gally sharply replied. He’d been on edge ever since they’d left the Medbay, and he wasn’t thrilled with the delay to their destination even if he should have expected it. “I literally didn’t leave Medical until Thomas did. He’s been awake for all of less than half an hour.”

“Are you sure you should be up and walking already?” Aris asked, looking at Thomas in concern.

Thomas was _pretty sure_ he managed to keep the strain out of the smile that he gave Aris, but he was also fairly certain that even if he did Aris wouldn’t buy it anyway. “I’m good as long as I don’t try to do anything other than a fast walk,” he assured him. “Besides, there’s something I need to take care of.” He paused before adding, “I saw Newt.”

Fry’s expression turned pained. “Yeah, we figured you would,” he said with a nod. Only Gally was with Thomas, which meant Minho was most likely still guarding Newt. “I guess you and Minho explained things, Gally?”

Gally nodded. “Yeah, and now Thomas here wants to have a chat with _her_ ,” he said, with an emphasis that had everyone solemnly nodding in a way that didn’t endear Thomas to the unknown person he was about to be introduced to. “Where’s Vince?”

"Meeting with some of the other Right Arm higher-ups – Jorge's there, too," Brenda replied, gaze flicking rapidly between Gally and Thomas. Gally somehow looked more intense than usual, like he was on a hair-trigger for hitting something if he got pushed in the wrong way, and Thomas was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with the urge to move. "So’s _she_. Let’s walk.”

Thomas actually broke out into a jog for the first couple of steps before both Brenda and Gally caught his arms to stop him, with Brenda giving him a stern reminder about stitches. He looked at her sheepishly but complied, slowing his pace to a fast walk as Frypan and Aris fell into step with them – they were joined by Sonya and Harriet after a moment, the two girls quickly coming over to flank Aris and clearly determined not to be left out of anything. And from the way that Thomas was moving with purpose, it was obvious something was going on.

As they walked in silence – aside from Brenda prodding Gally for information and Gally just shaking his head at his lack of it – Thomas took the opportunity to get his first real look at their new home. Flanked on two sides by forest and another by the ocean a beach white enough that it looked like no one had touched it before they’d arrived, the village – for lack of a better term – seemed to be a mix of old and new. It was obvious that _something_ had been there before the Right Arm had claimed it, but Thomas couldn’t begin to hazard a guess as to what that was. Some of the buildings, including the one that he’d woken up in, were made of metal and cement, boasting actual glass in the windows and sturdy doors with hinges. Even so, only a few of them seemed to have been repurposed; most sat in various states of disrepair, although Thomas suspected that wasn’t going to last long based on the way he noticed Gally glancing at the empty structures with a glint in his eye.

The newer structures were more reminiscent of the Glade, built of wood and thatching and again Thomas noted a certain style to them that told him that Gally hadn’t been spending _all_ of his time standing guard in the Medbay with Minho. He’d never a Builder himself, but even he could see how many of these had been erected in haste, most of them more of a lean-to style or open-walled with hammocks strung up, but there were already signs of more permanent, sturdier huts underway. Idleness wasn’t a trait that seemed to plague anyone at the moment, and even the youngest of the rescued were scrambling from point to point with supply-laden arms. The sight made Thomas’ lips twitch into a quick smile, but his expression quickly sobered. With the initial relief at reuniting with his friends – _his family_ – gone, he only had the task at hand to focus on. And he _really_ hoped he didn't wind up screwing it up as badly as he had screwed things up in the past. He wasn’t worried about convincing Vince and Jorge. It was whoever _else_ was in charge that he was worried about because if there were two things he knew Vince and Jorge were _not_ , it was a doctor or scientist.

And as much as he seemed to now have a reflexive distrust of anyone under that label, he knew that was what he was going to need if there was any hope in saving Newt. Which he had to do. _Had to._ Because he had almost thrown away everything thinking that he had killed his best friend, one of the few people that he could honestly say he loved in this hellhole of a world, and he was _damned_ if he didn’t grab this second chance by the horns and give it everything that he had.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Brenda murmured as she walked beside him, noticing the way that his gaze was sweeping over the area. “And peaceful. Jorge didn’t trust it at first. He insisted on keeping watch for the first few nights, but nothing happened. This place is like its own little world within a world.”

Thomas’ lips twitched into a brief smile because it was easy to imagine Jorge being on that level of edge. “I can’t believe I’ve been unconscious this whole time,” he said with a shake of his head. “It had to have taken days to get here, and then get everyone settled…”

“Well, you _were_ stabbed, shot, and going into shock from blood loss once the adrenaline wore off,” Brenda pointed out. “You came to a few times, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were pretty out of it.” She hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, “You kept calling for Newt and Teresa.”

Thomas swallowed hard at that, and he had to blink rapidly to keep his eyes from misting up with tears. He could have a breakdown later. Once he was _sure_ that Newt was going to be okay. That Teresa hadn’t died for nothing.

“We’re here.” Gally’s voice interrupted Thomas’ thoughts, and he refocused, looking at the building in front of him. It was another one of the older structures, large enough to fit at least half of the settlement if it had to. What had Brenda said Vince and Jorge were doing – meeting with other members of the Right Arm? Yeah, a larger space made sense to that. He wondered how many of the other older buildings had been refurbished for the Right Arm to use, while the rest of them had to make do with lean-tos on the beach.

Thomas looked at the door with foreboding; he’d seen more intimidating ones at WCKD, of course, but this wasn't the same. At least with WCKD, he’d been sure that whatever was on the other side of said doors were _not_ friends. Here, aside from Jorge and Vince, he didn’t have a clue what to expect. Or, really, what he was going to say. Maybe he should have planned this out a bit more before yanking on the first clean clothes he could get his hands on and rushing out of the Medbay. Maybe –

A firm hand abruptly closed on Thomas’ shoulder, and with a shove Gally propelled him towards the door, Frypan and Brenda pushing it open just in time to keep Thomas from breaking his nose. He stumbled into the room, gracelessly managing to get his feet under him before he could faceplant onto the ground – brief flashbacks to his first fall in the Glade rushed through his mind – and he quickly tried to straighten up and compose himself in an effort to maintain some of his dignity. He’d deal with Gally later.

In mid-attempt-at-composure, the interior of the room finally registered to Thomas, and he promptly froze like a deer in headlights.

Aside from Vince and Jorge, both of whom were looking at him with such identical looks of shock that it would have been funny under any other situation, there were three other people in the room that Thomas had never seen before; one man and two women. All three of them were giving Thomas similar looks of disbelief, clearly taken by surprise by the sudden entrance, and the woman in the middle – a tall, statuesque woman with severe facial features and black hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck – was looking at him in such a way that it immediately made Thomas feel like a lab rat in a cage. He had to physically stop himself from recoiling and taking a step back. _Do not hide behind Gally. Do_ not _hide behind_ Gally.

“Thomas?” Jorge’s voice cut through Thomas’ thoughts, his disbelief evident in his tone. “When did you wake up, _hermano?_ ” Despite his surprise and without waiting for an answer, he promptly strode over to Thomas and tugged him into a brief, tight hug, patting his back once before letting him go. Despite himself, Thomas grinned – it was good to see Jorge well. 

"And what are you doing on your feet already?" Vince added, not moving from where he stood but fixing his entire attention on Thomas. The worry and concern on his face made Thomas swallow hard; it still amazed him knowing that Vince had been willing to put so much faith and trust into him despite everything that the Right Arm had suffered as either a direct or indirect result of Thomas’ actions. One of these days he was going to have to sit down with Vince and really talk to him about Mary – he’d been so focused on rescuing Minho before that it hadn’t occurred to him, but he owed it to the man.

Right now, though - Newt.

Thomas’ expression sobered, his hand shifting slightly to rest against his pocket, where he could feel the small cylinder through the fabric of his sweatpants. “I need to talk to the doctor treating Newt,” he replied.

Thomas did not like the way that Jorge and Vince abruptly exchanged glances or the looks in their eyes. He couldn’t really identify the emotion, but it gave him that same uneasy feeling that he got when everyone put the odd emphasis on the words ‘she’ or ‘her’ when referencing this doctor. Thomas suddenly missed Mary. He’d known her – according to his memories – for exactly less than one day, and he was _absolutely_ missing her.

“You are referring to the Crank boy, yes?”

The voice that cut through his thoughts wasn’t one that Thomas was familiar with, which, not even remotely a surprise. It was husky, with a cultured, clipped tone that indicated an accent of some kind, but damn if Thomas had any idea of how to place it. Having a memory that was the equivalent of swiss cheese had that frustrating effect; his subconscious had helpfully provided ‘British’ for Newt’s accent, and apparently, he wasn’t allowed to be that lucky again. Not that it mattered. Tangent. Besides which, the woman’s _words_ had just registered to him, and any thoughts about her accent were suddenly replaced with bristling anger and indignation.

He looked at the woman who had spoken – it was, of course, the one seated in the middle. She had her hands clasped on the table in front of her, her posture ramrod straight as she fixed her gaze on Thomas. Her expression gave away nothing. Her _words_ , on the other hand…

“His name is _Newt_ ,” Thomas replied, the retort coming out fiercer than he’d intended, and yet at the same time, it didn't feel fierce _enough._ Another hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze; Frypan this time, because Brenda’s hand was smaller and Gally gripped harder. He could feel a cautionary warning in that squeeze, too, but since when had he ever listened to warnings? He remembered what Gally and Minho said, about how there were people in Safe Haven who hadn’t wanted to let Newt come with them, and how Vince had had to order them to be treated. The thought pissed him off. “Who the shuck are you?”

Vince cleared his throat. “Thomas, this is Dr. Liora Brisbois,” he said, gesturing to the middle woman. “She’s the one who has been overseeing the preparations here while we rescued as many of you as we could, and she’s also the current head of the Right Arm’s medical and science division.” Emotion flashed through Vince’s eyes, and Thomas didn’t need any elaboration to explain _that._ “She’s also the one who implemented Newt’s current treatment and got him stabilized.”

“Against my own personal recommendation, I might add,” Liora imperiously interjected. She was completely unmoved by the set of glares that were directed at her from everyone except for the men and women who flanked her. They were steadily _not_ meeting anyone’s eyes. “Nothing against the boy himself, mind, but I doubt that I have to remind anyone in this room that the entire purpose of the Safe Haven was to provide a _Flare-free_ location for the children and those of us within the Right Arm to live?” She narrowed her gaze specifically to Vince. “Allowing a contagion into the boundaries of the Safe Haven, particularly now that we know WCKD did _not_ guarantee immunity in the children that they sent into the Mazes – to say nothing of the rest of us – is not only risky, but also _reckless._ ”

Thomas clenched his fists, anger welling up inside of him at Liora’s dismissive and condescending words. “Newt isn’t a ‘ _contagion’_ ," he snapped, and Fry's hand was no longer on his shoulder in a gesture of caution, so nothing was stopping Thomas from walking up to the table and slamming his hands down on top of it. Which he did, ignoring the throb of pain in his side as the force of the gesture tugged at his stitches.

“He’s one of _us_ ,” Thomas continued, his tone fierce. “And after everything we’ve been through, everything _he’s_ been through, he deserves the chance to get as much help as we can possibly give him!”

“Which we are,” Liora countered sharply, narrowing her eyes at Thomas now. “Under strict quarantine and containment, with only confirmed Immunes permitted near him. None of which changes the fact that having him here is a dangerous risk, or that the help we can give him is _limited._ His condition has already deteriorated to the point where he needs a near-constant influx of serum to keep him stabilized, and the supply that we recovered from the Last City was not infinite.”

The scoff that Thomas heard from Gally’s approximate direction was fully justified in Thomas’ opinion, considering _Gally_ was the one who had retrieved said supply, not Liora’s empirical ‘we'.

Before he could come up with some way to both call her out on that – because apparently, he was just in that kind of mood – Aris spoke up from where he’d been standing near the entrance with Sonya and Harriet, silently listening and opting to remain quiet and out of the mounting tension until that moment. And, as always happened when Aris spoke, his words were direct, to the point, and drew everyone’s attention to him. Because when Aris opted out of his designated observer position, it was usually a good idea to pay attention.

“Why can’t you just make more of the serum?” Aris quietly asked. “There’s no shortage of potential donors here and I know there’s a way to do it without using WCKD’s methods.” He glanced over at Brenda, who was obviously Exhibit A.

Thomas stared at Aris, then back at Liora. The answer would be irrelevant in a few minutes, but he had to admit that he was curious about it.

For the first time, Liora’s severe expression appeared to falter, her brow furrowing slightly as she pressed her lips together with clear displeasure. She looked over at Vince and the two of them seemed to share a silent moment of communication with their eyes, which ended when Vince gave her a nod. She sighed, then turned back to address the group.

“The majority of the remaining doctors and scientists in the Right Arm were recruited through means other than WCKD defection,” Liora replied. “And even then, those that remain never worked directly with the serum. Mary was the one who brought the formula in, and she only trained a very select few on how to make it. None of whom, unfortunately, survived to make it to Safe Haven.”

“Are you serious?” Jorge asked in disbelief, staring at Liora and then looking at Vince for confirmation. “No one wrote it down? Made notes? None of the science types here have a clue on how to make it?”

Vince made a helpless gesture. “Mary kept documentation, but she had it with her when WCKD attacked the camp,” he quietly answered. “And Liora is right. The select few that Mary taught the formulas to were either killed in the Maze raids or were lost at the attack on the last camp.”

“We could, theoretically, use a sample of the serum from our supply to try and reverse engineer the formula,” Liora mused, a distant look in her eyes as she contemplated the possibility. “But it would take time. We’d likely run out of prepared serum long before then.”

Frypan swallowed hard, the sound loud enough to be audible. “Then there’s nothing you can do?” he asked. He looked over at Thomas, certain that if he was feeling this upset by the news that saving Newt’s life wasn’t enough, and was startled to see that Thomas’ expression was perfectly calm. Almost _eerily_ so, because calm was something that Thomas simply _did not do._

Thomas slid his hand into his pocket, then pulled it out, holding something tightly in his fist. “It’s a good thing that we don’t _need_ the serum, then,” he said. As several looks of surprise and confusion were thrown in his direction – including a pair of furrowed brows and a puzzled frown from Liora, Thomas set the object onto the table in front of him.

Frypan stared at it in bewilderment. At first glance, the vial of liquid seemed no different from the serum, but on a second look he noticed that it was a different color; more of a blue than green, at least as far as he could tell with the lighting in the room. He looked over at Brenda and Gally to his right and the moment he saw their expressions his own eyes widened with realization and understanding, his mouth instantly going dry. He knew what was in the vial.

He’d heard Teresa’s announcement over the loudspeaker in the Last City; they all had, as they’d rushed through the streets to try to get to Newt and Thomas with the serum. They’d known that Thomas had gone back to the WCKD building after he thought he’d killed Newt. And, of course, they’d known that he’d met back up with Teresa. As much pain as she had caused them, Frypan doubted he’d ever forget the moment when the building had collapsed and taken her with it or the look that had been on her face. The _relief_ at knowing that Thomas would be safe.

These were all things they’d known. What they hadn’t known – mostly, Fry figured, due to Thomas’ state of unconsciousness since he’d passed out on the Berg – was that Teresa might have actually succeeded.

Liora, possessing none of the knowledge that Frypan had, looked at the vial with narrowed eyes. “What is that?” she asked sharply. She reached out for it to inspect it closer, and Thomas automatically pulled it closer to him. The stubborn look on his face made it clear that he had no intention of just handing it over.

“What do you think it is?” Thomas asked, arching one eyebrow and giving – to Frypan and Brenda’s exchanged amusement – Liora a look that was a dead ringer for the one that she’d been directing at _him_. “This is the Cure.

“And you’re going to give it to Newt.”


End file.
